


A Badly Broken Code

by lookninjas



Series: Children's Work [7]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canonical Character Death, Cults, End-of-the-World Theology, Manipulation, Michigan, Militia Movement, Mourning/grief, Mutual Pining, Other, Religious Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 13:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8403649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookninjas/pseuds/lookninjas
Summary: Poe is the last to know that Ben is gone, the last to hear that he's been stolen away by one of his teachers.  By the time he does hear, there's nothing he can do to bring his friend back home.  It'll take thirteen years for Poe to be in a position to offer any help of any kind.  But when his chance does come, he is more than ready.





	

_July 2012_

There is a moment before the deposition when it’s just Ben and Poe. Luke is gone, Phasma’s stepped outside. The court clerks are getting the room set up and Snoke and his attorney and their escort of guards are still en route and it’s just Ben and Poe, holding up the wall in the hallway outside the conference room. Ben gnaws absently at the cuticles on his thumb, an old black hair tie tight around his wrist. There’s a watch on the other arm, one Poe remembers seeing on Han’s wrist. Luke gave him the cross today; the plaid shirt is one he’s worn to nearly every interview, meeting, and appointment thus far and therefore has to have come from Rey.

Poe briefly wonders why he was never asked to contribute to Ben’s armor before he realizes: Ben doesn’t need a souvenir or a talisman or a token from Poe. Because Ben has Poe. Will have him for as long as he needs him.

And he knows Ben knows, but there’s no such thing as too much reassurance. Not right now.

“Just remember,” he says, and Ben glances at him, lets his hand fall away from his mouth. His thumb is bleeding a little. “I’m gonna be right here with you. No matter what happens, I’ve got your back. And we’re gonna get through this. Together. Okay?”

“Okay,” Ben whispers.

Poe reaches out, twines their fingers together. “We’ll get through it together,” he says again, because he can’t say _I won’t let him touch you._ Can’t say _It’s going to be all right._ Because it’s not going to be all right, and Snoke is already in Ben’s head. It’s in the tension of his shoulders, the vacancy of his eyes. All Poe can do is try to make sure this is the last time. “You’re not alone. I’m right here.”

Ben nods, slowly. His fingers tighten around Poe’s. It’s probably the closest he can give to an answer.

It never gets easier, this part. Poe hasn’t done it very often, and never in a situation quite like this, but there’s still a familiarity to the dread. Knowing Ben is going to have to spend the next several hours in a room with his abuser, reliving everything he went through. Knowing that it’s his job to keep Ben in that room, rather than dragging him away to safety. Knowing that he has to let it happen in order for justice to be done.

It never gets easier, but Poe would be failing Ben if he faltered now. He won’t do that. They will see this thing through, together.

“I’m right here,” he says, one last time, and lets Ben squeeze his hand tight, and braces himself.

They did the work. They’re ready. Snoke won’t break them.

They’ll get through it. Together.

 

_March 1999_

“I’m kind of excited for it, actually.” He even sounds excited, or at least less exhausted. A hell of a lot better than he did over Christmas, anyway. “I mean, I haven’t -- You know, I’ve just been cooped up in the city so long… I mean, not the _city_ city, but when we used to go up north, you know, where my dad grew up. It’s a lot different up there. And we’re not going up there, but it’s still different. You know?”

“I know,” Poe says. He doesn’t, really. He and his dad walked across the Bridge together, once. It was windy and cold and he hadn’t liked it much. Ben and his parents used to go up three, four times a summer. Sometimes they even camped. In tents. No bathrooms. “No, it sounds… Great, actually. For you. Not necessarily for me. But I can see how you’d enjoy it.”

Ben makes a soft sound on the other end of the line that might almost be laughter. “You’d enjoy it,” he says, and Poe can hear the smile in his voice. It makes everything just a little easier. “If you tried it. You’d -- Someday. You and me, we’ll go out to the middle of nowhere, and… You’ll like it. I promise. It’s really not that bad. At all. I wish I could take you with me now, actually. I know I can’t, but.”

“Well, maybe this summer,” Poe says. It’s a reckless promise to make, but Ben just sounds so relaxed. So comfortable. It makes Poe want to make a lot of reckless promises. “We’ll find someplace up north and you can teach me to enjoy the great outdoors. Porta-potties and all.”

“Maybe,” Ben says. “Maybe.” There’s a long space of quiet there, almost long enough for Poe to get worried. Then Ben adds, “So, you know. Enjoy New York while you can. Don’t spend your whole break doing homework, okay? I know it’s important -- I know you’ve got a lot to do, but. I mean, you’re in New York City. Do something fun. Otherwise it’s like… I don’t know, I just worry sometimes. About you. I guess that’s dumb, but.”

“You’re not dumb, Ben.” Ben might even be right. Sometimes Poe thinks he spends half his time in New York being homesick, and the rest panicking over his grades. It’s been three and a half semesters, now, and he’s barely explored the city at all. Maybe he could stand to do something that’s not work.

Once this paper’s done, of course. Not before.

“I’ll go have an adventure,” he says, finally. “Like you, right? We’ll both go, and have our adventures, and then when we see each other again, we’ll have stories to tell. Right?”

“Right.” Another pause, this one more worrying than the last. Finally, Ben says, “I’ll miss you, though. I don’t know, it’s just. Weird. Thinking about long it’s gonna be until I actually get to see you again. It’s hard.”

“I know,” Poe says. It’s reassuring, almost, to hear Ben talking like this. Being honest like this. It’s nice to think that Ben trusts him enough to be open, after all this time. “I’ll miss you, too. But you know you’re gonna see me again, right? Believe me, you’re not getting rid of me that easy. I’ll chase you down if I have to. Don’t think I won’t.”

Another helpless little laugh. “I know you will,” Ben says, soft. “I know.”

This time, the silence is warmer. Almost comforting, in its way.

“Anyway.” Ben takes a breath deep enough that Poe can hear it all the way from New York. “I know you’ve got a lot of work to do, so I won’t keep you. Just… I know I’ll see you again; I just… It’ll be a while, and I wanted to talk to you. At least for a little bit. And let you know that it’s… It’s getting easier. It’ll be easier, I think. Soon.”

“I hope so.” It sounds easier. Ben sounds easier than he did before. It’s not much, but it’s a start. “If there’s anything I can do to help, Ben. Anything at all. Just let me know.”

“You do help,” Ben says, softly. “Talking like this. It helps. But. Um. I’ve gotta go. I’ve got a lot to take care of, you know, before my trip, so. But I’ll call you when I can. And we’ll talk again. Okay?”

“Okay.” Just for a moment, Poe wishes he could see Ben’s face. If he’s smiling, if he’s somber. If the tips of his ears are pink. But he’ll see him soon enough. Maybe not as soon as he wants, but. Soon enough. “Have a good trip, okay?”

“I will.” They linger there, in the silence, for a little longer, before Ben finally, softly, says, “Okay. Bye, Poe.”

“Bye.”

Ben hangs up first, which isn’t surprising. But the fact that he called at all --

It’s good. It makes Poe feel… Hopeful.

He’s still grinning a little foolishly when he turns back to his work.

 

_March 1999_

The second time Poe feels the world crumble out from underneath his feet, he’s standing next to his desk with his phone pressed to his ear, staring at the note Snap scribbled on his whiteboard.

_CALL YOUR FUCKING FATHER, ASSHOLE. EXTREMELY IMPORTANT._

“Poe?” Lando asks, barely audible over the ringing in Poe’s ears.

He doesn’t know how to answer.

Ben is gone. Ben is -- Gone. How --

He _can’t_ be --

“Poe,” Lando says, louder this time. He sounds scared. Lando Calrissian is scared. Fifteen years on Detroit City Council, and he’s scared. “Poe, are you there? Come on, kid, say something, say --”

“He’s gone,” Poe whispers, and finally sinks heavily into his chair. Lando told him to sit down, earlier. Poe should’ve listened. “He’s -- I don’t understand. How could he just --”

“We think he’s with one of his teachers,” Lando says. He said this once, already. It didn’t make sense then and it doesn’t make sense now. “And another student. Armitage Hux. It looks like he went of his own will. But that doesn’t mean we’re not taking this very seriously, Poe. Believe me. Leia, Han, myself, Hux’s father, we’re all --”

“Oh, what’s _Han_ gonna do?” It’s nasty, bitter in a way that Poe never is, but. “Sell some drugs? Maybe steal a car or two, or here’s a thought -- he could run away, again, just like he --”

“I’m going to let this slide,” Lando says, suddenly sharp and cold. “Because I know you’re upset, and because nothing you can say about Han right now is any worse than what he’s saying about himself. But I want you to remember, Poe, that I knew Han long before you were ever thought of. Believe me when I say he would turn the world upside down to bring his son back.”

Poe grits his teeth, forces himself to subside. It isn’t easy. Because he’s not wrong -- Han was gone; has been gone since December. If he’d been there, if he’d been watching --

But Poe wasn’t there, was he? Poe wasn’t watching. Poe’s here, in New York, spending his nights in the library, this stupid research project on early decisions of the US Supreme Court and how they shaped American history, and for two days now, there’s been notes from Snap telling him to _CALL YOUR FUCKING FATHER_ and he just… He wanted to go to bed, and then he had class, and study group, and he never --

“I have to go home,” Poe says, and tries not to think about how close it is to too late. How maybe they’ve already passed that. He can do this -- he knows Ben. He’s known him since he was a baby; he held him; he -- “I have to help. I can -- Lando, please. I can help. I need you to let me help find him. Please.”

A long, heavy sigh. “Call your dad, Poe,” Lando tells him, finally. “If he’s okay with it, I’ll help get you home. But you need to talk to him first.”

He doesn’t want to. It’s probably stupid, but all he can think is that he never called his father back, and that if he had, maybe…

Maybe it would be different.

“He’s going to be mad at me,” Poe whispers, eyes stinging with tears for the first time. “I didn’t -- I was supposed to call him; I didn’t --”

“He’s not going to be mad at you.” Lando says it with all the assurance he can muster, and that’s a lot, because it’s Lando, but it still doesn’t help. Poe’s starting to wonder if he’s going to throw up. He needs a cigarette. He needs Lando to tell him this was all a joke, some kind of intervention, something to make him pull his head out of his studies and pay attention to his family again, all those people he’s been ignoring for so long now.

He needs this to not be happening.

He needs to call Ben’s house, hear his voice, talk to him. Talk him out of whatever this is.

He needs it to be a week ago. He needs it to be winter break. He needs to do this summer over. He needs --

He needs this to not be happening.

“Poe. Listen to me. It’s going to be all right. Call your father. Tell him you want to come home. We’ll work out the rest. Okay? _Poe_. Okay?”

“Okay,” he says. It’s not okay. Ben is gone, and nothing is okay. “Okay. I’ll… Yeah. I’ll call him.”

“Promise me, Poe.”

It takes him a long time to force the words out. “I promise,” he says, and his voice sounds small. He feels small. He hasn’t felt this small since his mom died.

 _I have to stay with Poe until he feels better_. _I have to stay because God doesn’t have hands but I have them. So I have to make Poe feel better._

He was four when he did that. And Poe is nineteen and he couldn’t do the same. He couldn’t be there when Ben needed him. He couldn’t --

“It’s not your fault, Poe,” Lando tells him, and Poe sniffles into the phone. “I get it. I do. God knows there’s a million things I wish I’d done differently. But we can’t fix that now. Focus on what you can do. Call your dad, talk to him. We’ll get you home, find a way for you to help. So we can bring Ben and Hux home.”

 _Focus on what you can do._ He can do that. He can focus. Ben needs him to focus. He’ll focus. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. I’ll call him. I promise.”

“Do that,” Lando tells him. “Poe. If anything happens between now and then, you’ll know as soon as I know. I promise you. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

The only reason Poe isn’t in the loop is because -- No. Not helping. He needs to _help._ “Thanks, Lando,” he murmurs. “Um. I’ll. I’ll see you soon.”

“Take care of yourself, kid,” Lando says, before he hangs up.

Poe listens to the silence, then the beeping, and tries not to think -- he _was_ taking care of himself. And look what happened.

_Focus on what you can do._

He finally manages to hang up, then immediately picks the phone back up and starts dialing.

_Call your fucking father._

It’s not too late. It can’t be too late.

 

_March 1988_

After a while, Poe stops paying attention to what’s happening around him. No one’s talking to him, anyway; Han and Leia are talking to his dad, to his aunt Vanessa, and Ben’s not talking at all. Ben’s just sitting there, with his little hand on Poe’s wrist. It feels important, that hand. Poe couldn’t say why, but it does. It feels calm. Soothing. Like his mom’s lips pressed to his forehead before he fell asleep, like her hand ruffling his curls.

And that should hurt, probably, thinking about those things, but Ben’s hand is on his wrist and it doesn’t hurt that bad. Poe’s not sure why. He doesn’t really care.

He just concentrates on that one point of contact -- Ben’s little fingers resting so lightly against his skin, the faint pressure. His hand was cold at first, but it’s warmed up now, from touching Poe for so long. Poe doesn’t want it to stop. He doesn’t want Ben to go away.

Then Ben’s parents are standing up; Leia is saying, “We’ll be back tomorrow. Anything you need, Kes --”

And Han is holding one hand out to Ben, saying, “C’mon, kiddo. It’s time to go home.”

And all of the pain rushes back at once, thick in Poe’s throat and making his eyes burn and water; he can’t breathe for how much it hurts, all the air sucked out of his lungs. He doesn’t _want_ Ben to go. It’s stupid and it’s selfish and he knows he can’t stop it, knows he’s not supposed to try, but --

Except Ben doesn’t move. He doesn’t take his hand away from Poe’s wrist. He looks up at his dad and says, very calmly, “That’s okay. You go on without me. I’m going to stay here. With Poe.”

The adults all stop, then, and stare at him. Poe stares at him, too. Ben is so calm, calmer than Poe has ever seen him. His face is tilted up towards his father’s, not smiling or frowning or crying or laughing anything at all, just… Just very calm. He’s only four years old, but he seems, for a second, so much older.

“Ben,” Leia says, and smiles a little. “Honey, I know you’re worried about your friend. And that’s very sweet of you, but Poe needs some time to relax, and catch his breath, and I think you do too. It’s been a long day. We’ll be back tomorrow. You can visit every day if you want to. But now it’s time to go home.”

Ben hesitates, then. Just for a second, he hesitates, and his hand twitches like it’s going to go away, and Poe doesn’t even think, he just grabs. Grabs Ben’s hand and holds it as tightly as he can, and Ben looks down at their hands, and then back up at Poe.

He turns to his mother. “I can’t,” he says. “I have to stay with Poe until he feels better. God wants me to, so I have to. I can’t go home with you. I’m staying here.”

The adults all look at each other, again, like they don’t know what to do. Ben watches them, quiet, completely fearless.

Poe just holds on tight to Ben’s hand and hopes.

 

_May 2012_

He knows the man sitting at Leia’s kitchen table, but he can’t seem to make it make sense.

Leia told him herself as he walked in the door. _He’s in the kitchen. With Rey._ Poe has never met Rey before, never even really seen her. Hux showed him a picture, once: Rey was apparently somewhere in the corner, a long denim skirt and a small hand and tangled brown hair hanging down and hiding the rest of her. It’s easy enough to transform those few elements into the girl watching him walk into the room -- taller now, her hair braided around her head like Leia’s often is, most of her hidden underneath the table and therefore still missing.

But Ben --

Poe has countless memories of Ben, from four days old all the way to fifteen years. He can’t reconcile a single one of them with the man sitting at Leia’s kitchen table, his back to Poe. Black hair long enough to graze his broad, broad shoulders. They are very good shoulders. The hair is very nice hair.

And when Leia says, “Rey, this is Poe Dameron. He’s going to be acting as Ben’s advocate through the deposition process.”

And Ben turns to look over his shoulder, that big beak of a nose, the tips of his ears sticking out from underneath his mane of hair.

And he’s familiar but not really. As he stands up, slowly, one hand on the back of the chair. Long body unfurling -- he stood as tall as Poe did the last time they saw one another, but Poe had already stopped growing, and Ben obviously had not. He has to have at least half a foot on Poe now, maybe an inch or two more. Muscular, too. Fills out his red t-shirt well. His face is different, slightly, although Poe couldn’t tell exactly how. Cheekbones, maybe. He’s less funny-looking than he used to be. More… Striking, maybe.

His eyes focus on Poe. That’s different. Looking at Poe, and not at his shoes, that’s different. But the way the tips of his ears color a little bit, that’s the same. “Hi,” he says, softly, his voice much much deeper than it used to be, and something in Poe’s brain kicks into stuttering overdrive because it doesn’t matter how different he is. He’s still Ben.

“You’re here,” he says, stupidly, and stumbles forward into Ben’s space but can’t quite reach out to touch. “You’re actually here.”

“I’m actually here,” Ben agrees. He bites down on his lower lip, pushes his dark hair out of his eyes. “It’s. Um. It’s good to see you, Poe.”

“Yeah.” The weight of it is crushing the breath from Poe’s lungs, the heavy realization that this is happening. Ben is here. Ben is _home._ “I -- Just --” And then his hands are moving, reaching up to cup Ben’s face, fingertips at the hinge of Ben’s jaw, thumbs grazing the tops of his cheekbones. He’s freshly-shaved, skin soft and smooth, the bones of his face hard underneath. Then down, to the breadth of his shoulders, well-worn cotton over firm muscle. The fine hairs on his forearms, the tender skin on the insides of his wrists, his long, strong fingers. All of it solid. All of it real. Ben’s hands catch his own, stop them from moving; if he’s honest with himself, Poe’s not sure where he’d go next.

“God,” he breathes. His eyes are stinging hot; he feels more than a little unsteady. “I _missed_ you.”

Ben swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing. He blinks. Poe can’t think of the last time he saw Ben so open. Like all that armor has finally been carved away. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry; I know; I shouldn’t have --”

“Just come here, okay?” He doesn’t wait for an answer -- reaches one hand up into Ben’s thick, dark hair and pulls him down, his head on Poe’s shoulder; Ben has to bend nearly double to do it but he doesn’t seem to mind, wraps both arms around Poe’s waist and clings to him, shuddering.

_Can I get a hug before I go?_

It was the first time he genuinely thought Ben might say _no_. He looked like he was going to, just for a second, and then something in his face shattered and he lurched forward, buried his face in Poe’s shoulder and clung, just like this. Like Poe was the only thing that could hold him upright.

It was the last time Poe saw him, until today.

“I’m really sorry, Poe,” Ben murmurs, breathing the words into his collarbones, one hand fisted in the back of Poe’s shirt like he’s afraid Poe will walk away again.

This time, he won’t. This time, he doesn’t have other obligations. For the next several months, Ben is his responsibility. And he won’t fall down.

“It’s okay,” Poe says. Leia is somewhere, probably still in the doorway, watching. Rey is watching too. Han may or may not come into the room at some point. None of it matters. His world, for these next few moments, is Ben’s thick hair sliding between his fingers, Ben’s nose against his neck, Ben’s arms tight around him. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

Ben makes a choked noise into Poe’s skin, and his arms tighten up briefly in wordless gratitude.

“It’s okay.” Poe says it softer this time, murmuring the words into Ben’s hair. “It’s okay. I’m gonna help you. And we’ll stop him. Okay?”

Ben just nods, a motion Poe can’t see but feels, and maybe it’s better that way.

This time, they’ll stick together. And God help anyone who tries to pull Poe away before his work is done.

 

_July 2012_

The door swings open, and two of Snoke’s guards step into the room and Poe _remembers_ , suddenly -- how all the oxygen left the courtroom every time Snoke was brought in, during the trial; the way the energy of the room shifted. The shiver of fear that settled at the base of his spine, the way he always wanted to look but could never bear it for more than a second, all his impressions of Snoke captured in fragments. The flat nose. The overlarge head. The small, black eyes. The long fingers. The overall effect was more monster than man, a lich conjured from the darkest parts of his imagination. The dark wizard that stole away his best friend.

_Ben._

Ben who is visibly suffering now, as Snoke takes his seat at the other end of the table. Ben who -- there’s no other word for it -- actually cowers under the avid gaze of Snoke’s black eyes, head hanging low, dark hair falling in a curtain to shield his face. Poe is close enough to hear the rasp of Ben’s breath, coming fast and hard; when he rests his hand gently on Ben’s wrist, just above Han’s old watch, he can feel Ben shaking.

It’s hard, this moment. Poe’s not afraid that Ben will back down, that he’ll falter; he knows Ben has the strength to keep moving. But in this moment, Ben is struggling, and that’s hard to watch. Hard to let it happen, when there’s so little Poe can do to help him.

“I’m right here,” Poe reminds him, voice soft, intended only for Ben’s ears. “I’m right here with you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Ben’s head bobs in what might be a tentative nod. He takes one deep breath, then another. Then, very slowly, he gathers himself. His back straightens bit by bit until the slump is nearly gone; his shoulders roll back a little. He shakes his hair out of his eyes, tilts his chin up a bit. Holds Snoke’s gaze for several long seconds before finally looking back at Poe.

Poe can’t say it, but he hopes Ben can see it in his eyes, how proud he is. “You’ve got this,” Poe murmurs. “Remember. You’re stronger than he is. And the truth is on your side. You’ve got this, Ben.”

Another shaky little nod; Ben lets out a long breath and turns away for a moment, looking out the window at the gray parking lot below them. Going inside himself. Gathering his strength.

When Poe looks back at Snoke, Snoke is smiling. His black eyes glitter.

Poe takes a long, deep breath, keeps his hand on Ben’s wrist, and forces himself to meet Snoke’s eyes without flinching.

 

_January 1999_

“I really am sorry,” Ben says, sounding miserable, and Poe doesn’t have it in his heart to be angry. “I just… I don’t know what’s wrong, I just feel really…”

“Hey, it’s okay.” It’s not okay, obviously. Ben’s sick and he sounds awful and Poe wishes he could fix it somehow. But Ben doesn’t like being fussed over when he feels like this, and the kindest thing for Poe to do is let him take care of himself the best way he knows how. “If you’re sick, you’re sick. I’m not mad at you. Take care, rest, feel better. There’s still a couple of days before I go back to New York.”

“Yeah,” Ben says, but it’s drained. Exhausted. “Yeah, sure.”

“And it’s not like I’m not going to be back,” Poe adds, because if he’s honest with himself, Ben sounds wretched enough that he probably won’t be up to company for a while yet, and as much as Poe hates the thought of going back to Columbia without ever really spending time with Ben, he knows how stubborn Ben is, and how sensitive. Knows that if Ben really thought Poe would be hurt by Ben standing him up, even for a good reason, he’d drag himself out of bed and wind up getting worse in the process. “There’s still spring break. And summer, too. I know I said I was probably going to get an internship and stay, but… I mean, there’s time for all that later. Might be nice to take a break for a little while.”

Ben doesn’t answer for a long time. Just when Poe’s starting to worry he’s passed out on the other end of the line, he finally mumbles, “There’s a thing. A camping thing. In the Smoky Mountains. I might not be here when you’re on spring break. I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

The idea of waiting all the way until summer to actually hang out with Ben again stings more than Poe’s expecting it to. He’s not sure why. Maybe just because… Well. Because Ben has always been here, and now he’s growing up and doing his own thing and that’s… But Poe’s not going to be a jerk about it. “Hey, we’ll figure something out,” he says, instead. “You’ll see me again. I promise. You’re not getting rid of me that easy. I’m your friend, remember? I like you.”

“I like you too,” Ben says, sadly, and then “Poe, I --”

And Poe waits, but all he gets, in the end, is “I have to go.”

Poe doesn’t say _don’t_. He doesn’t say, _Let me help you_. Maybe he should, maybe later he’ll wish he would have, but he doesn’t. Instead, he says, “Take care, okay? Give me a call when you’re feeling better. Even if I’m already back at school. I’ll answer. Or I’ll call you back if I’m in class or whatever. I promise. Whenever you need me, okay?”

“Okay,” Ben says. “Okay. Okay.”

And then he’s gone.

 

_July 1999_

“I don’t understand,” Poe says, numb. He’s sitting down, at least, his father next to him, holding his hand. Han and Leia across from him, sad and exhausted. It’s still too familiar. That crumbling feeling. The drop. “I don’t -- This is that church group thing? That Ben -- And they just --”

“Hux called me almost the same time that Ben called Han,” Leia tells him. “They both said the exact same thing. It’s possible this is all just a coincidence, but. It’s unlikely. Officers are probably moving in on the compound as we speak. Hopefully, everyone will surrender without a fight, but in case they don’t, we wanted you to hear it from us. And not… Not when you turn on the news tonight.”

The only thing worse, probably, than hearing it from Lando. There’s a strange, hysterical itch of laughter rising up in him; Poe crushes it down with effort. “Is that why they ran?” he asks. “Hux, Ben, is that -- They knew what was going to happen, they --”

Something in Han’s face sucks all the air out of Poe’s lungs. The way it changes, the way the grief deepens. “They were the ones he turned to first,” he says. “At least that’s how Hux tells it. Snoke went to Ben, and then when it started to become clear that Ben wasn’t going to be able to do it, he went to Hux instead. I think both of them were hoping he wouldn’t find someone who’d say _yes_ , but obviously…”

“Oh, right, obviously.” Poe does not know Hux. He has yet to talk to him since he came home a week ago. He wants to -- of course he does; he’s desperate to know what the hell happened, how everything went wrong. And Hux is the only one who can tell him. But Poe hasn’t spoken to him, or really ever seen him in anything but the pictures he used to peddle around to any newspaper that would take them -- a skinny red-headed kid in a dark sweater and white button-down and dark tie, staring grimly at the camera.

It hurts to picture that boy holding a gun.

(It is, of course, impossible to picture Ben doing likewise.)

“I thought it was like a Bible study,” Poe says. He feels strangely numb. “I thought… He said he was meditating. That it helped him. I thought… Why would they kill a cop?”

Han and Leia look at each other. For a moment, Poe thinks they’re not going to answer him. Finally, Han says, “They weren’t gonna stop at one. Ben said… Ben said Snoke was trying to start a war. And he wanted Ben to do it.”

Ben, with his big ears and big nose, his big hands and feet. Ben, who couldn’t look Poe in the face. Ben, who spent a week once sleeping on the floor next to Poe’s bed to make him feel better.

“He didn’t do it, Poe,” Leia reminds him, leaning forward. “He got out, and he stayed out, and when he realized what Snoke had done, he went to us immediately. To stop him. Whatever Snoke did to him, it wasn’t enough to change who he is inside. He’s still our Ben. He proved that today.”

 _Our Ben_. It hurts more than it should, that phrase. It makes a large, solid lump lodge itself in Poe’s throat. He has no idea when it’ll go away. If ever.

Nothing makes sense anymore.

“Sure,” he says. “Sure, sure.”

It was a Bible study. That’s all. Just a Bible study. To strengthen Ben’s connection with God.

“You two have had a long day,” Poe’s dad says; it’s the first thing he’s said, really, since they all sat down together. “Why don’t you go home, just for now, and we can talk the rest of this over later? Get some rest.”

“Maybe we should,” Han says, and stands up. Then he crosses over to Poe, kneels down at his feet, reaches out to touch his face. “Poe…”

Whatever he wants to say, he can’t do it. He brushes Poe’s face with his knuckles, gently, then stands up and turns to go.

Leia doesn’t say anything at all; she stoops to kiss Poe’s forehead like a benediction, and then follows Han out of the room, out of the house.

“I don’t understand,” Poe says, to his father, to the empty place where Han and Leia used to be. To God, maybe. “I don’t understand at all.”

“I don’t either,” Poe’s dad tells him, and that’s when Poe crumples. That’s when he falls into his father’s lap, sobbing.

It was a Bible study. And now somebody’s dead.

Poe doesn’t understand at all.

 

_March 1988_

Ben is kneeling on his sleeping bag, hands pressed together in front of his bowed head, eyes closed. Praying. Poe is trying not to stare. It’s not weird, exactly; it’s just…

_God wants me to stay with Poe. Because God doesn’t have hands but I do. So I have to stay and take care of him until he’s better. I have to do what God wants me to do._

Ben lowers his hands, raises his head, turns to look at Poe and for a moment, Poe is almost afraid of him. But it’s just Ben, blinking at him, head cocked to the side. Confused. Worried, maybe.

“How did you know?” Poe asks, because he wants to say something to stop Ben looking at him like that and it’s the only thing he can think of.

“Know what?” Ben shifts a little on his knees, turning to face Poe better. With Poe up on the bed, Ben has to tilt his chin up. His eyes are wide, innocent. He looks like the cover of one of the books that Poe’s great-aunt used to give them, the ones that would make Poe’s mom mutter under her breath about _Gee Dee Baptists_.

It’s a weird thing to have to ask, but Poe can’t back down now; he’s committed. “How did you know God wanted you to take care of me?” he asks, kind of fast, the words tumbling out in a hurry. But Ben understands; Poe knows by the look on his face. Thoughtful, kind of. Older than he should look.

 _Old soul_. That was something Poe’s mom used to say about Ben. She said it a lot nicer than when she was talking about the Gee Dee Baptists.

Ben shrugs. “I prayed,” he says. “Because I wanted to help you but I didn’t know how. And I saw me holding your hand. And so we came here and I did it and then I thought about God’s hands and how He can’t come down here to hold your hands but I could stay and do it. And then I knew. So that was why I said it. Because that was what God showed me.”

 _I wanted to help you_. “But you said _God_ wanted you to help me,” Poe says, and doesn’t understand why he’s so mad but can’t stop feeling it anyway. It’s not like it matters that Ben wanted it. It’s better, probably, that it’s Ben. Not God. Poe knows that Ben loves him, but God -- Sometimes Poe is not so sure. About God.

Especially now. Especially now that his mom’s gone.

“He showed me how,” Ben says, that confused and worried look back on his face, and somehow it makes Poe even more mad. “He wouldn’t have showed me how if He didn’t --”

“But you _asked_ Him,” Poe explains, and he is trying so hard not to be angry because he doesn’t get angry at Ben -- people do sometimes, because Ben is so totally different from everyone else that it’s hard to understand him and that makes people angry even though it’s not Ben’s fault but Poe doesn’t, and never has, and never wants to. “He didn’t just… You had to _ask_ , Ben.”

Ben just stares. Like, for once, Poe is the confounding one and Ben’s the one trying to piece the riddle together. “God cares about you, Poe,” Ben insists. “He does.”

“Like He cared about my mom?” Poe snaps, too sharp, and Ben’s dark eyes go saucer-wide. His lower lip wobbles. He looks like he’s going to cry.

“Ben,” Poe says, quickly, because Ben is going to cry and Poe didn’t _mean_ it. He’s not mad at Ben; he’s not -- “I didn’t mean it. Ben, I’m sorry, I’m sorry please don’t --”

Ben pushes up to his feet, stumbles over to the bed, climbs up and into Poe’s lap, wrapping both arms around him and hugging him tight and then Poe is crying, not totally sure why but just -- crying.

“It’s okay, Poe,” Ben tells him, face pushed into his pajama shirt and little hands clinging tight to him. “It’s okay to be mad, Uncle Luke said it was, he said you’d get mad and that’s okay, it’s okay. Please don’t feel bad. Unless you need to. Then it’s okay. It’s okay ‘cause you’re grieving and it’s okay to feel things. Uncle Luke said.”

Poe tries to laugh, hiccups instead, buries his face in Ben’s dark hair and holds on to him because he’s there. God might be, He might not be, but Ben is.

“It’s okay,” Ben says, again, and then, “God doesn’t mind. And I don’t either.”

Right now, Poe doesn’t care about God. Just Ben.

“It’s okay,” Ben says, one last time, and then snuggles closer in Poe’s arms and stays there, holding on, until long after Poe has finally stopped crying.

 

_May 2012_

“It wasn’t so much that he said he’d _fix_ me.” Ben glances sidelong at Poe, just for a second, then returns his eyes to that same spot on the table he’d been staring at for the last five minutes. Funny how, even after so much time has passed, memories can have that kind of power. Ben even sounds younger, somehow. “He was always very careful about how he phrased things. How he did things. There was always that -- Plausible deniability, I guess. It took me a long time to see it, how he did it. I always felt like… When I was with him, it always just felt like I was the one who was wrong. That he’d been perfectly clear and I’d… I’d fucked up. It took a long time to realize it wasn’t me.

“But. Anyway. He never told me he’d fix me. He never said things like that. It was more… He talked to me about Anakin, and how he’d been so close to his mentor, once. Ben Kenobi. They named me after him, actually. My parents did. But Anakin and Ben had a pretty bad falling-out, I guess, and Snoke said it was because of Anakin. Because he wanted a kind of affection that Ben wasn’t able to give him. That in pushing for it, he’d lost everything. And I knew he was talking about me and Hux. Because I… I had a pretty decent crush on him, and… And I knew he didn’t feel the same. I mean, he was kind. For Hux. He was nicer to me than he was to other people, anyway. But. I knew. It would never be the same for him as it was for me. And then I started to think about Uncle Luke, and how he’d been in love with _his_ friend -- Biggs, I think -- and then it didn’t work and he’d been alone pretty much as long as I knew him and I just.

“And I guess it made sense. You know, if you want something you can’t have, you. You go to God, and He makes it easier. To bear. And I wasn’t getting anywhere by myself, and I couldn’t go to Luke, because -- And I thought I was overreacting. The way I felt around Snoke, sometimes. Because he never _did_ anything, not really. Hux trusted him. My mom… She wasn’t happy about me spending time with him, but she never told me not to. Neither did Luke, or anyone. I thought he was safe. That I was safe with him.”

It’s too familiar. Poe hasn’t had that many abuse cases, not really, but even so. He’s already heard all of it too many times.

_I thought I was overreacting._

He rests his hand on Ben’s wrist, and Ben glances at him again, quickly, before returning his eyes to the table.

“It started, really, with the meditation.”

 

_July 2012_

 

“He said he wanted to consult with me privately, and took me into the study. It was dark. He had the curtains drawn. There was a light on the desk, but it wasn’t very bright.”

Poe’s heard this story so many times he almost has it memorized by now. He almost remembers it, now, like he was in the room. Can see the heavy drapes, the solid bulk of the desk with the single pool of yellow light coming from its small lamp, the shadowy wall of shelves.

Snoke, of course, with his gaunt face and flat nose and dark, glittering eyes.

And Ben. Always Ben. He’d been wearing a t-shirt and jeans when Poe left him, but he’d probably have dressed up for this. V-neck sweater, maybe, like he wore for his school photos that year. A button-down underneath. Black pants. His dark hair combed back behind his oversized ears and that lost, lonely look on his face -- the look Poe had caught right before he walked away.

“He said he wanted me to meditate with him. That he had a good feeling about tonight. That he felt I was finally ready to receive the truth of what God wanted for me. I wasn’t sure I could; I was… unfocused. Distracted. Couldn’t concentrate. He said he’d help me. He said together we’d get there.”

Across the table, Snoke is smiling.

“I sat down on the floor, cross-legged. He turned the light off, and told me to close my eyes, so I did. I wasn’t breathing deeply enough, or he said I wasn’t breathing deeply enough, so he sat down behind me. I could feel his legs against my… Against my hips. And my back. And he put his hands on my sides, on my ribs, and told me to breathe deeper, and then deeper, until he was satisfied that I was breathing deeply enough. And he kept them there, his hands.”

Poe can almost feel it, how they would have dug in. Snoke has thin fingers, bony fingers. Like claws. They would’ve clutched until it hurt.

“I’d managed to get to a point, sometimes, where I couldn’t feel his hands. So I tried to get there again. Tried to go really, really far into the darkness, where there was nothing but me and God. And I did it. I got there. And then I started to see… Grey shapes. Like rubble. Like a great ruined city, all around me. I was the only one there. I was alone. The sky was grey. Everything was grey. And I was alone, all alone, and I felt… nothing at all. No sadness, no loneliness. But no joy, and no satisfaction. I just didn’t feel. Anything at all.”

 _Time Enough At Last_. Ben hadn’t remembered the title, but he’d remembered the episode. Brought it up himself, in Poe’s car during the ride back to Leia’s house. Said he hadn’t even realized it until years and years later, introducing Rey to the Twilight Zone. And then he saw the ruined city, the aftermath of the H-Bomb, and that he’d actually laughed when he recognized it as the city from his vision. That he’d laughed, and Rey had gotten angry with him, and that it took him forever to figure out a way to explain it.

All that pain, all that misery, because of Burgess fucking Meredith.

“When I came out of it, when I told him what I’d seen, he was pleased. He said he’d seen my potential from the start, and that now God was going to help me realize it. And that it would be hard, but if I pushed through, God would help protect my heart, and that by the end I wouldn’t feel anything at all. No suffering of any kind, no fear. No guilt or regret. That I would be perfect.

“He made it sound like a good thing. And I’d -- I’d wanted it for a while. To stop being so scared. To stop hurting. But the idea of being numb to something like that… But because of what I’d just seen. Because I’d been meditating like Snoke told me, exactly the way he wanted, and I’d seen something exactly the way he said I would, so I thought maybe he was right. Maybe it was from God. And if it was from God, then maybe it was inevitable. Maybe I should stop fighting.”

 _I’m really sorry_ , Ben said, and Poe thought he was sick. Poe thought he had mono.

He knows he couldn’t have seen this coming, seen any of this coming. He still wishes he had.

“And I guess, in the end, that’s what I did. I stopped fighting.”

 

_December 1998_

 

“So it’s like… Bible study for future politicians?” Poe asks, a little confused. If he’s honest, he’s not totally sure how that would be Ben’s thing. He’s religious, yes, and he’s political, but… Not the same way as this, somehow. More like Luke. Less like…

Well. Less like Snoke. Who Poe has, admittedly, never actually met. But he’s seen the books -- he’s read a few interviews. He has a basic idea of what the man is about. Snoke and Ben… It doesn’t mesh, somehow.

“Not really,” Ben says. Defensive. A little angry, maybe. “It’s not -- I’m not explaining right. I just -- There’s meditation, and things. It’s been helping me. Deal with. Stuff.”

 _Stuff_ meaning Han. _Stuff_ meaning his father’s continued absence. The house was just about big enough to contain all three of their oversized personalities. With Han gone, it’s suddenly empty, echoing.

“I’m sorry,” Poe says, and means it. “I wasn’t trying to be glib. If it helps, then… Then that’s what counts.”

Ben doesn’t seem to hear him. He’s folded in on himself, bunched up awkwardly. “And I’m not -- I’m not any kind of a politician. Future or otherwise. That’s not what I want to be. That’s never been anything I --”

“ _Ben_.” Poe doesn’t usually interrupt Ben; he remembers what it felt like, being trampled over by everyone older, never given time to speak. But Ben’s so hurt and Poe just can’t take it, how much pain he’s in. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put it like that. It was… It was disrespectful. I shouldn’t have said that.”

And Ben stops, then, and he _looks_ at Poe. Really looks at him, and then stares. Like he’d forgotten somehow, who Poe is. Who he’s always been.

“I don’t laugh at you, Ben,” Poe reminds him. “I would never laugh at you. You know that.”

And the pain in Ben’s eyes, then. The longing. Just for a moment, Poe can see clear down to the depths of that cracked and aching heart, and then Ben ducks his head and turns away and the moment’s over.

“Anyway,” Ben says. “You should be glad, you know. You don’t have to babysit me. You can go do -- Whatever. It’s New Year’s Eve. I’m sure you’ve got stuff. With your friends. You can go and have fun and not worry about me being sad on my own, or whatever.”

“ _You’re_ my friend,” Poe reminds him, and it comes out sadder than he wants it to, more hurt. “Is -- Is that what you think this is? Babysitting? Because it’s not -- It’s never been --”

“ _Don’t_ , okay?” Ben turns his back entirely, curling in on himself. Like he’s bleeding somewhere, trying to hide it. “Don’t… I get that you feel sorry for me, and probably guilty or something, but… Just don’t. Don’t patronize me. Or placate me. Or whatever. I’m not naive.”

A whipcrack of anger lashes through Poe, almost enough to loosen his tongue. Almost. But he’s better than that; he fights it back. “Is it really that hard to think --”

Ben finally turns, gives him a look of sheer, heartbreaking disbelief. “Of course it is.” The worst thing is, he might even mean it. “You’re in college, Poe. In New York. There have to be a hundred better places for you to be spending your time than hanging out with me in this stupid house eating pizza and watching _The Twilight Zone_. I don’t even know why you bothered coming back. If it was me, I wouldn’t have --”

“I _missed_ you.” He’s still furious. He still sounds, somehow, more sad than angry. “I don’t get why that’s so hard for you to understand. I’m your friend. I have always been your friend. That doesn’t stop just because I’m gone. It was never -- I don’t spend time with you because I have nothing else to do; I spend time with you because I _like_ it. I like you. But, look, if you don’t want me here; if I’m getting in the way of you, and your big plans for the evening, and your new friends, then --”

“Please.” Ben says it so softly; if it were anyone else, Poe might not have heard them. But Ben is different. “Please. Stop. You know it’s not like that. You know it isn’t.”

He’s nearly as tall as Poe, now, but he seems so small like this, still curled in on himself, arms wrapped around his knees. Poe almost reaches out. Doesn’t.

“I’ve just…” Ben sighs, shrugs. “It’s been hard. The meditation helps. I know everyone else is networking, even Hux -- _especially_ Hux. But it’s different for me. The connection… I feel it, sometimes. So strong. I need it, Poe. I just. Need it.”

Poe feels shittier than he’s ever felt in his life. “Then you should go,” he says, and tries to make himself believe it’s that simple. “I don’t want to keep you from doing something you really want, Ben. I just… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed you didn’t have something better to do than entertain me. It was a dumb thing to think.”

Ben shrugs again. “Most days, you wouldn’t be wrong.” There’s a long, long pause, and then Ben says, softly, “Look, you’re still here a few more days. Come over tomorrow. We can go get coffee, or something. Go see a movie. If you want.”

“Of course I do.” He has plans with his father already, but he’ll put them off. Figure something else out. His dad will understand. Ben’s had a hard year. He needs a friend right now. Not Hux, or Snoke. Someone better. Someone who gets him. “I’ll… I’ll give you a call tomorrow, okay? We’ll figure something out.”

“Sounds good.” Ben even manages a smile for him, and it’s reassuring in a way Poe didn’t realize he needed. But Ben has always smiled for him, even when he wouldn’t for anyone else. “I should -- um. Hux’ll be here to pick me up in about half an hour or so, so.”

Poe feels a brief stab of panic. He isn’t really sure why, just… Something feels off, and he doesn’t quite know what or why. But he doesn’t want to fight with Ben anymore either, so he just says, “Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’ll just…” He pushes off Ben’s bed, makes it almost all the way to the door before something stops him.

He turns back. Ben is still sitting curled up on the bed, watching him. For a split-second, before he registers that Poe’s looking back, his face is so _lonely_. “Hey,” Poe says. “Can I get a hug before I go?”

There’s a long pause, Ben staring at him, and Poe wonders for once if Ben’s about to say _no_. Then something in his face shatters, and he’s lurching up off the bed, crossing the room in a few long steps to throw his arms around Poe and just cling to him, his weight coming down heavy on Poe. But Poe can hold him. Poe has always been able to hold him.

“I’ve got you,” he says, soft, and feels Ben shudder and clutch him even tighter. “I’m right here.”

And he wishes, not for the first time, that Ben would just tell him what was wrong. But he doesn’t know how to ask, so he doesn’t. He just holds Ben and hopes that, somehow, it’s enough.

 

_March 2000_

“Oh, so you do have a vice.”

Poe starts, guiltily, almost dropping his cigarette into the late-March slush at the edges of the parking lot. It’s too late to hide it, of course, but he still finds himself tucking his hand to his side as he turns, trying to block the cigarette from view.

Then he forgets all about the cigarette, because Armitage Hux is strolling towards him, hands in his pockets, red hair uncovered, trying desperately to look casual and absolutely failing.

They still haven’t really spoken. Poe’s seen him around -- he’s been helping conduct interviews for the Lenawee County DA’s office, trying to get witness statements from as many of the First Order survivors as they can. Poe doesn’t actually interview anyone, but a lot of the survivors have kids who need occupying, and Poe can do that. Play tea party or Lego or get his nails painted, whatever. Sometimes the kids talk to him about what happened to them, that summer. About Ben, and Rey, and Snoke.

The more they tell him, the less he understands, but that’s not surprising.

Hux comes in to be interviewed, too, but Poe doesn’t talk to him. He’s a college dropout “interning” with the DA because he can’t figure out what his next move is going to be; Hux is the prosecution’s star witness. Poe doesn’t go anywhere near his testimony. That’s for the real lawyers, which Poe is not. They’ve seen each other around. They’ve nodded, exchanged mumbled greetings. But they don’t talk, really.

And now Hux is standing next to Poe, staring down at him. He looks a little bulkier than the last time Poe saw him, although how much of that is his heavy wool overcoat, Poe couldn’t say. But the strange, almost feral gleam in his eye is still the same. Poe wonders if it was there before Hux joined the First Order. Probably not.

He should say something. There’s so much he wants to know, so much he wants to ask. There’s too much, really. He stares up at Hux and realizes -- he has no idea where to start.

Hux smirks, and starts for him. “He talked about you, you know,” he explains, eyes drifting back to the cigarette still smoldering at Poe’s side. “When I first met him that was pretty much all he’d talk about. ‘My friend Poe, in New York. My friend Poe, who’s going to Columbia.’ I almost thought he was making you up at first. Like someone who says he has a girlfriend in Canada, you know. Imagine my surprise when I found out you were a real person. Not only that, but you were actually helping the DA’s office. They talk a lot about you, you know. The work you’re doing. It’s impressive. Everyone’s very impressed.”

Poe can’t think of anything to say in response to that. At a loss, he shoves his cigarette back between his lips, digs in his pocket for the pack and his lighter. Holds them out.

Hux grins and takes them, ungloved fingers grazing Poe’s. “And you’re a gentleman,” he says, pulling a cigarette out of the pack, tapping the filter against the thin cardboard box. “No wonder he was in love with you.”

It takes a moment for it to hit, which is probably for the best, because by the time Poe realizes what Hux has just said his cigarette is back safely in his hand and he’s exhaled his lungful of smoke. “I’m sorry,” he says, blinking. “He… What?”

The tips of Ben’s ears turning pink whenever Poe paid too much attention to him. The way he could never look Poe in the eyes for more than a second. The way he struggled for words, couldn’t seem to figure out which way to sit or how to stand or hold his hands or do anything as long as Poe was in the room, watching him.

“Fuck,” Poe says, and Hux shrugs, lights his cigarette, slides the lighter back into the pack again. It’s probably supposed to look casual, but it doesn’t. Not even a little bit. "He -- Fuck. Oh, fuck."

“You didn’t know,” Hux says, a flat statement. Not surprised.

“No,” Poe says, and wonders how he could’ve missed it. When he thinks about it, looking back, it seems so obvious. Even the way Ben tensed up when Poe touched him, like he was scared of Poe. “I didn’t even know he was --”

“Gay?” A long plume of exhaled smoke. “Yeah. Well. I don’t know if he wanted to be, really. Especially after what happened to his mother. The election, and everything. Can’t afford to be a liability when someone you love is in politics. Bad enough that Leia had to deal with Han’s past. Imagine if the wrong people found out about Ben. What a shitshow that would’ve been. Lucky for him I’m not the sort to take advantage. My dad would’ve loved something like that.” Hux’s lip curls into a sneer. “Really would’ve ground her into the dirt with that one. The criminal father, the deviant --”

“Stop it,” Poe snaps, suddenly furious, and Hux raises an eyebrow at him. He's not that indifferent, Poe knows; he wouldn't be out here in the chilly damp with Poe if he was. But Poe still feels himself flushing hot anyway. “He’s not -- There’s nothing wrong with Ben. Even if he is -- If he's gay, it’s not…”

Hux shrugs. “Never said it was.” He takes another drag off his cigarette, holds the pack back out to Poe. It’s a moment or two before Poe finally relents and takes the cigarettes back. “I mean, so he’s gay. So what? He wasn’t pushy about it, or anything. Had his little crush on you, on me. But he never did anything about it. It was obvious -- well, it was to me, anyway, but it didn’t bother me, Poe. It was… flattering, in its way. I don’t have a lot of admirers. It was kind of nice, I guess. To have his attention.

"But it was hard, for him. Not knowing what people would do, or say. Or what they’d think of him. I mean, not that I think you’d -- I mean you dropped out of school to come rescue him. For all I know, you’d have reciprocated, if you’d known. Ben… Ben had more doubts.”

“He told you?” Poe asks, and tries to tell himself it’s only worry. That it’s not jealousy. That it doesn’t bother him that Ben went to Hux rather than him, as long as he went to someone. "That he thought I'd -- That it would bother me? If I knew?"

“Christ, no. Ben didn’t tell anyone anything.” Hux turns his attention back to the parking lot -- the melting heaps of filthy snow, the bare trees at the edges. March is such an ugly month, everything gray and black. “Especially not me. I don’t know; I just… I could always read him. His face, you know, it’s so -- “ He glances back over his shoulder, mouth quirked up in a wry smile. “This probably sound terrible to someone like you, but my family doesn’t emote much. I suppose if I could learn to pick up on my father’s moods, Ben was like -- Like he was shouting, practically. He didn’t tell me things. He didn’t have to. I knew. One look at his face, and I knew everything.”

Hux turns away again, takes a long drag off his cigarette. His profile is sharp against the pale sky, cheeks flushed with the chill. It’s not impossible, really, to see what Ben saw in Hux. There’s a certain magnetic quality to him.

“I wonder if that’s what it was like for Snoke,” Hux muses, half to himself. “If he looked at Ben and saw all those little weaknesses. All those points of vulnerability. And how easy it would be to use them. To twist them up and tear him apart.” Hux’s jaw works; he flicks ash off the end of his cigarette, stares out at nothing. “So easy. He probably couldn’t even help himself. Couldn’t resist the opportunity.”

“You did.”

Hux blinks at him, caught halfway between surprise and offense; Poe just steps up beside him, drops the butt of his cigarette to the ground, crushes it out with the toe of his shoes. “You said it yourself. You could’ve told your father, and let him use it however he wanted. You could’ve told other students, maybe. You could’ve told Ben what you knew, held it over his head. But you didn’t.” Hux’s jaw clenches again; he stares resolutely at the dead trees at the edge of the parking lot, and Poe says, “In fact, I don’t think you’ve told anyone at all. Just me. I’m the first one.”

Hux sighs. “Don’t let it go to your head,” he says.

They don’t say anything for a few seconds. Poe considers the pack of cigarettes in his hands. He doesn’t really want another one, not yet. But he has a feeling he’s about to, so he pulls the next one out, lights it up. Takes a deep drag, lets it out slow.

Finally, when he’s out of ways to stall, he asks, “Why me?”

“Because.” Hux wasn’t lying; he’s not nearly as expressive as Ben was. But there’s something softer in his face now. Something… Something sad. Lonely. “Because you dropped out of school to bring him back home. You didn’t think twice; you didn’t hesitate. You heard he was gone, and in less than twenty-four hours you were on a plane heading back to Detroit. It didn’t work, in the end, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. You wanted to save him so badly.”

Poe’s eyes sting. He stares out at the parking lot and tries to keep his face as expressionless as Hux’s. He does about as good a job, which is to say -- not very.

“And you’re still here. You could’ve gone back to school, whether Columbia or someplace else. I’m sure lots of schools would be happy to have you. Instead you’re here, doing whatever grunt work they have for you. Or, anyway, that’s what you were doing. Until people realized how good you were at interviewing the younger witnesses. How easily you got them talking. And how much they knew. No one even thought to ask them, you know. Not even me, and I… lived with them. Spent time with them, every day. Never occurred to me how much they’d seen. How much they remembered. But you --

“But mostly, Poe, I’m telling you because I know you won’t tell anyone else.” Hux stares at Poe with his strange, light eyes. “Not Leia, not Han, not your father. Not anyone. Because if you did, Poe, it might become. Well. A liability. It’s not enough to be a witness, you know. You have to be the right kind. There’s a certain… _character_. If people knew what Ben was. If they knew that I knew, and that I kept his secret. That I protected him. They might get suspicious of our relationship. What we might have been to each other. And the next thing you know, we’re the ones on trial. Two teenage deviants, conspiring to ruin a good Christian man. And everything else ceases to matter.”

 _What we might have been to each other._ And that’s it. Buried under all those other words is the one thing that actually matters. That possibility, that missed chance. Hux said that Poe could’ve reciprocated, and maybe he could’ve. If Ben were a little older, maybe. If they’d had more time. Maybe he could’ve.

But maybe, in another life, Hux could’ve too.

“You saved him,” Poe says. He doesn’t know how he knows; it’s not anything Hux is giving away, really; it’s just… Something beneath everything else Hux has said, in the spaces and the silences, in the softness of his face staring at the parking lot and the feral gleam of his eyes when he first came up to Poe. In the way that he, too, is here, despite everything. Determined to get justice, if he can have nothing else. “Didn’t you? He didn’t just decide to leave all on his own. You had to talk him into it. Convince him. Didn’t you?”

“Someone had to,” Hux takes a last drag off his cigarette, tosses it out into the parking lot. It lands by the tire of someone’s shiny black Lexus, hisses on the wet asphalt. “You weren’t there. I was. Why? Are you jealous?”

More than just talking, then. Something happened, between Ben and Hux. And he’s right; he can’t tell anyone. If it got out, if anyone knew --

And he’s right, too, about Poe. He won’t tell. He never will.

“I guess I just wanted to thank you,” Poe says. “For doing what I couldn’t. For getting him out of there. You saved him. I can’t… There’s nothing I could ever do that could repay you for that.”

The shine in Hux’s eyes, then, is far from feral. He tilts his head back, blinks up at the pale, cloud-covered sky. The tip of his nose is more than a little red. “You would’ve done the same,” he says. “If it had been you. You would’ve… You would’ve done the same.”

“Hopefully.” He wants to reach out, more for his own comfort than for Hux’s, but knows better than to let himself. Hux isn’t Ben -- he’s sharper, colder. Poe can’t soften that so easily. “But it wasn’t me. It was you. Thank you, Hux.”

Hux studies him for a long moment. “You’re welcome,” he says, finally. “We should talk, more. The weekend, maybe. I’ll give you a call.”

He doesn’t wait for Poe’s response; turns on his heel and stalks back off around the corner of the county building, leaving Poe behind with the last few millimeters of his cigarette.

He’s half-tempted to light a third, just to give himself time to process everything. Some days, it’s like the more he learns, the less everything makes sense.

But. He’s got work to do. He took some quick notes when he was hanging out with Desiree Mitaka, some things she observed that might be useful. Things her father mentioned in passing, about what he saw those last few weeks. Those need to get passed on to his supervisor, and then he’s still got all those transcriptions to think of.

It’ll be a late night. There’s been a lot of those.

He grinds his cigarette out beneath his shoe, and goes back into the county building, to his little cubicle with the picture of Ben tacked up inside, and tries not to wonder what Hux had to do. Tries not to wonder whether or not he could’ve done it, in Hux’s place.

Tries not to think about what would've happened if he'd failed.

It doesn't matter anyway. It was Hux. It wasn't him. So everything worked out, and Poe should be grateful for that. He is grateful. Or he will be. Someday.

He can't say when exactly, but. Someday.

 

_March 1988_

Ben is leaving tomorrow.

Poe doesn’t want him to go.

He hasn’t said it, because Ben hasn’t said he’s leaving yet, but Poe knows. It’s the last day they’re sitting Shiva. Monday, Poe’s dad goes back to work and Poe goes back to school and that means that Ben is going home. Everything back to normal.

Except his mom. Who is gone. Who will never be back.

And he will have to pretend, somehow, that it doesn’t matter. That he can still be who he used to be, do what he used to do, even with her gone. With that hole in his family, the empty space where she used to be. Ben didn’t fill it -- he couldn’t fill it. Poe’s pretty sure he wasn’t trying. But he never pretended the hole wasn’t there. He never asked Poe to pretend.

He let Poe be different, and Poe loved him before that but he loves him more now because of it, and he’s not ready for Ben to be gone.

But Ben has school, too, and his own parents, and his own life, and Poe knows he can’t keep him anymore.

So he lays there, in the darkness, in his bed, and doesn’t say anything.

“Are you scared of the dark?” Ben asks, out of nowhere, and Poe startles, lets out a weird, wheezing noise that isn’t quite a sob. “Are you -- Ever? You aren’t, probably. Of course you’re not.”

“I am,” Poe says, although he’s not, really. He might have been, once, but he doesn’t remember. But he probably was. Most little kids are. He knows better than to call Ben little, though. “Sometimes. Not always. But sometimes I am.”

“No you’re not.” Ben doesn’t sound mad or annoyed by it, just sad. “It’s dumb to be afraid of the dark. There’s nothing out there. There’s not -- There’s nothing out there. It’s just dark. It’s stupid to be scared of it.”

“You’re not stupid,” Poe says, immediately, because it’s true. Ben can already read as well as Poe, and he can already do math, and he’s already in school even though his birthday’s in December and they weren’t going to let him but Leia insisted, and he’s doing stuff that some kids in _Poe’s_ grade can’t do, and he’s probably kind of a genius. “You’re the smartest person I know. If you’re scared, there’s probably a good reason.”

Ben’s quiet for a moment. “I’m not scared,” he says, softly. “I’m not -- I don’t _want_ to be scared. There’s nothing to be scared of. So I’m not going to be.”

Poe’s pretty sure it doesn’t work that way, even for Ben, but it’s late and he’s tired and Ben is going away and he doesn’t want to fight now, so he isn’t going to. “I’m scared,” he says, instead. “Not of the dark, maybe, but. Other things. I’m scared all the time.”

There’s a rustling in the dark, Ben sitting up in his sleeping bag. “Scared of what?” he asks, softly.

All Poe can do is shrug. His throat is suddenly so tight; his eyes are burning. It seems impossible that he could still have anything left to cry with, but apparently he does. “People leaving, I guess,” he says. “People leaving and not coming back. And not seeing them again. Ever.”

Ben doesn’t say anything, or maybe Poe just can’t hear him. He buries his face in his pillow, sniffles, tears starting to leak out again, and then the bed shifts and Ben is crawling over him, sliding under the covers behind him and pressing his forehead to Poe’s back, one hand holding tight to his shirt. “I’ll come back,” he promises, to Poe’s shirt. “Even if I have to go, I’ll come back. I will.”

Poe can’t manage to say anything, even to say that he knows. Because he doesn’t know, not really. Because sometimes, with all the will in the world, people can’t come back. They stay gone.

Instead he rolls over, wraps an arm over Ben, and holds on while he can, while Ben is still there.

And Ben doesn’t just let him; he squirms closer to Poe and holds onto his shirt with both hands like maybe he doesn’t want to go away either. Like, maybe, he’s scared too.

 

_July 2012_

Nine days before the deposition, Rey drops Ben off at Poe’s apartment. He’s paler than usual, eyes dark-circled and heavy. Poe tries to reach out as they’re walking up the stairs -- rests one hand on Ben’s back, up high between his shoulderblades -- and Ben just freezes up, standing stock still with his head hanging low.

And Poe remembers: _and then the next time it would be lower, just a little bit, but I would notice, I would always notice, except maybe I thought I was imagining it, except then the next time_ \--

Bites back the kneejerk urge to apologize, knowing it would only make Ben feel worse. Links his hand with Ben’s instead because that always works, and waits until Ben’s shoulders straighten, until he can start moving up the stairs again.

The worst part is, he’s been expecting this for the last five days. There’s something about that two-week mark; it makes everything suddenly _real_. The idea of seeing Snoke again, after all this time, isn’t a nebulous possibility. There’s a clock ticking down every second. Ben is going to have to face him very, very soon. Under the circumstances, Ben’s been holding up pretty damn well.

But no one, not even Ben, can face down that much fear on their own.

That’s what Poe’s for.

He leads Ben into his apartment, helps balance him as he kicks his shoes off at the doorway, then walks him over to the couch. Ben sinks down, eyes focused on Poe’s rug, and Poe stands over him, still holding his hand.

“You want anything?” he asks. “Water, Coke -- I could make you a sandwich or something, if you’re hungry, or there’s --”

“Water’s fine,” Ben says, quickly. He gives Poe an apologetic glance, and then drops his eyes again, turns his face away and adds, “Please.”

Poe should leave it at that and go get Ben his water. But this is Ben, and so Poe ducks down and presses a brief kiss to the soft skin of his temple, where the skull retains just a trace of that newborn fragility.

Ben is staring at him when he straightens up.

Ben is still staring as Poe finally walks away to the kitchen.

Ben just asked for water; Poe grabs chips and a jar of salsa anyway. Rey would have told him, of course, if Ben wasn’t eating. If he was lapsing into old, bad habits. Rey would see, and she would tell Poe. But Poe worries, sometimes, and anyway it feels strange not to feed a guest. Poe’s dad always has food for guests, when they come over. It’s usually something better than half a bag of Tostitos and a jar of Meijer salsa, but Poe’s not home that much lately. Doesn’t keep a lot of groceries on hand.

He does, at least, pour the chips into a bowl, with another little bowl for the salsa. Partially to make it look nicer, and partially to buy Ben a little time to think. He’s here, and that’s a good start, but there’s a reason. There’s something he needs to say. Knowing Ben, he has yet to find a way to say it.

Poe gives him as much time as he can, and then -- salsa in one hand, water in the other, chips tucked into the the crook of his arm -- heads back into the living room. Ben’s still on the couch, folded forward with his elbows resting on his knees and his head buried in his hands. He doesn’t look up as Poe approaches.

It’s not a good sign. But Poe can bring him out of this. He knows he can.

He kneels down by the coffee table, low enough that he can set the chips down without needing to use either of his full hands. Ben’s water goes right in front of him; the salsa a little ways away. Poe considers climbing back up to the couch, then settles cross-legged on the floor instead, just leaning against Ben’s leg. “This all right?” he asks.

Ben finally lifts his head a little, looks down at Poe. He bites his lower lip. “Actually,” he says, and stops. There’s something almost pleading in his eyes, and Poe wants to say _yes, yes of course_ , but can’t until Ben actually asks for it. “Um. Could we… switch? If I could sit… And you, up here?”

It’s not the most coherent he’s ever been, but Poe understands him well enough. “Sure,” he says, immediately, and pushes himself up off the floor. “Sure, sure. Of course.”

As soon as he’s on the couch, Ben’s off, on the floor, long legs folded underneath him. He leans very carefully against Poe, very tentative, and Poe pushes his fingers into Ben’s hair, rubs gently at his scalp in encouragement. Just like that, Ben relaxes, lets his weight fall on Poe more heavily.

Poe holds him up. It’s what he’s for. More to the point, he’s grateful for the opportunity.

Ben’s arm loops around Poe’s calf, his big hand settling over Poe’s bare foot. He’s quiet, thoughtful. Still unhappy, of course. Poe’d be an idiot if he thought he could fix Ben with ten seconds of physical contact. But if he waits, he thinks maybe it’ll be enough to finally crack Ben open. They just need time. Just a little more.

Finally, Ben reaches out for his glass of water. Takes a sip, sets it down again. He slumps lower on the floor, trying to make himself small enough to rest his head against Poe’s leg, but can’t quite manage it. Poe runs his fingers through Ben’s hair, the thick heavy silk of it.

“I can’t meditate anymore,” Ben says, softly, and oh _hell_. Poe doesn’t understand it much, the meditation thing, but he knows how important it is to Ben. How much he relies on it. To lose it now, at the worst possible time -- “I try, and I just… I can _feel_ him, Poe. In the darkness, somewhere I can’t see him but -- Close. It feels like the moment I let my guard down, I’m going to hear him telling me to close my eyes, or feel his hands on me, and I --”

“Ben,” Poe says, and strokes his hair, and wishes he had more than this. “I’m so sorry.”

“Even when we ran,” Ben continues, lost in his own thoughts. “I still -- I never lost it. I didn’t try, much, because we were moving around so much and I had to take care of Rey -- I had to find rooms, and figure out dinner, and put gas in the car, and -- But when I needed it, it was there. Now it’s just… Him. Waiting. I don’t know what to do.”

The worst thing is, Poe doesn’t know what to do either. Another question, another fear, he could answer. Something like this, he’s lost. “I’m so sorry,” he says, again. “If there’s anything you think I can do, anything at all, just tell me. I want to help you. That’s what I’m for.”

Ben shrinks a little more, curls in a little tighter. “And I just -- I know if I asked Rey. Or Uncle Luke. Or anyone, really. I wouldn’t have to explain it. I could just -- But if they did ask. If they needed me to tell them what I was so afraid of, or why I --” A half-sobbed inhalation, hiccuping on its way out. “I _can’t_ , Poe. I can’t -- I just can’t. Tell them. What he did.”

 _It’s not like he_ molested _me._ He’d even managed to smile as it said it, although it was a tentative, desperate thing, fell away in a second at the looks on Poe and Phasma’s faces. _It’s not -- It was never like that. It wasn’t. It was -- It just wasn’t like that._

Poe keeps running his fingers through Ben’s hair. “You don’t have to tell anyone anything,” he says. “Not even me. If there’s anything you just can’t say, Ben, then that’s fine. That’s your call. You have the right to wait. Until you’re ready. And if you’re not --”

“I have to be.” Ben sounds exhausted. “Maybe not for everyone, but. For the deposition. I have to be.”

“Not necessarily.” There’s a sudden stillness to Ben, his whole body alert and listening. Poe keeps stroking his hair as though he didn’t even notice. “If you need more time, we can get you more time, Ben. It won’t be easy, but we can do it. _I_ can do it. If that’s what you need.”

Another long silence. Ben’s arm tightens briefly around Poe’s leg, fingers clutching at Poe’s ankle. He rubs his cheek against Poe’s knee. Poe digs his fingertips into Ben’s scalp, as if he can somehow soothe Ben’s racing mind through the touch, and Ben finally says, “No. I -- Thank you. But honestly I think waiting will only make it worse. It was always that way, with him. The waiting. Not knowing when he’d -- At least now I know. And it’ll be over. I just… I need it to be over, Poe. I need it to be done.”

It’s exactly what Poe was expecting him to say, but it doesn’t mean he regrets offering. It’s important that Ben knows, always knows, that he has options. That he isn’t trapped. “Okay,” Poe says. “If that’s what you need. My job is to make sure you have what you need, Ben. That’s all.”

“I know.” Ben straightens a little. Stops resting his head against Poe’s knee, but doesn’t let go of his calf. “I remember,” he says, staring out at nothing. “I remember. When I went really deep, sometimes. When he was right there behind me, his hands on my ribs and his legs on either side of me, and his -- But I remember thinking: If I go deep enough, if I go far enough away, he could do whatever and it’d be like it hadn’t even happened. I wouldn’t have to know. He could do anything, and it wouldn’t matter, because I’d be gone. Somewhere else. Wouldn’t even feel it.

“Sometimes I’d even wonder if maybe he had done something, with me. I mean, I knew, of course. There’d be evidence. Like there was with Hux, there’d be -- And there never was. But I’d still wonder about it, sometimes. Going through all the things he could have done to me while I wasn’t even there. While I didn’t know. Picturing it in my mind. Making myself sick over it. I'd think about it, and I'd just... I felt so sick. And I knew it didn’t really happen, but I couldn’t stop myself. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t -- I couldn’t stop. I'd just lay there in bed, in the dark, and just play it over and over again, on a loop. Almost like I wanted it. Like that was why it wouldn't stop. I mean. I know it wasn't. Dr. Stanhope -- she's good about explaining stuff like that. Why it was happening. But I didn't have her then. I didn't know what was going on. I just thought it was me. That it was my fault.

“How fucked up is that, right? I mean, I just… I did all the work for him. He didn't even have to touch me. It was like it had already happened. Just, the worst things I could think of, it was like he'd done them. And then I blamed myself for it, ‘cause it was just… All in my head. None of it real. I did it to myself. Over and over again. It wasn’t Snoke, it was just… me. Always me. Couldn’t trust myself anymore. I was all messed up inside. I needed someone to tell me what to do.

"And Snoke had never _actually_ done anything; it was just… me. Because of how I was. Because of what I wanted. Maybe not from Snoke, but. And he said -- he implied. He could fix that part of me. Make it so I didn't want things anymore. It just... It made sense. At the time. To not trust myself. To trust him instead.”

The worst part is how empty Ben’s voice is. How numb.

“Sometimes I still think it’s just me,” Ben admits, softer. “Even now, I think -- Maybe. Maybe I just got it all wrong. Maybe it was all just in my head. I know -- I know, I do. I just… But it’s still there. He’s still there. Can’t get him out.

“Sometimes… Sometimes I think, maybe, I’m just not going to.”

Poe’s hand stills in Ben’s hair, and Ben freezes, falls silent.

Poe should say something. Reassure him. His throat’s too tight to get the words out, though. So he just lets himself slip down to the floor next to Ben (his foot jostling the table, water spilling over the rim of Ben’s glass and slopping down the side, the bowls rattling but not falling), reaching out to catch Ben by the shoulders, gripping his t-shirt and pulling him in.

Ben’s hip hits the table and the glass falls over, rolls off the table and lands on the carpet, water spilling everywhere, some of it catching Poe’s leg, shocking cold and wet. There's a thud as something else hits the floor on the other side, probably the salsa. But Ben is crouched over Poe’s lap, his face buried in Poe’s shoulder, and Poe doesn’t really care about anything but him.

“Sometimes I think," Ben says, and stops, shuddering in Poe's arms. He sucks in a deep breath, tries again. "Sometimes I think God's mad at me. For doing this. For fighting him. And that's why I can't meditate, that's why I can't --"

“God's not angry at you," Poe says, and pulls Ben in closer. Poe's not entirely sure that he believes in God anymore, if he ever really did, but if there is a God out there, and if He's anything worth believing in, He couldn't be angry at Ben. Ever. "He's not, Ben. If God's on anyone's side in this, it's yours. You're doing the right thing. Snoke hurt you, okay? He hurt a lot of people. You're going to stop him from hurting anyone else. God sees that. He knows. He's on your side. I promise, Ben. This is the right thing to do."

Ben’s arms tighten around Poe’s waist. “I’m scared, Poe,” he whispers. “I’m really scared.”

“I know,” Poe tells him. He’s always known. But this, he thinks, is the first time Ben has actually admitted it to him, and that’s how he knows things are going to be different. Not easy; it’s never easy. But different. Better. “I know. It’s okay. Because I’ll be with you. I’ll help you. All you need to do is trust me. Okay?”

“I do.” Ben’s forehead presses against Poe’s collarbones. He’s heavy in Poe’s lap, but Poe doesn’t mind. He’s grateful for it, for Ben’s weight sinking into him, and what it means. “I do trust you, Poe. I do.”

It’s different, this time. They’re together.

This time, Poe can save him.

 

_July 2012_

He can still feel Ben’s ribcage under his hands, the unsteady rise and fall of it. Snoke’s dark eyes glittering, watching them, and Ben shaking and trying not to show it.

 _If you could turn please, so my client can see_ , and Phasma glaring daggers at all of them and Poe just… waiting to see what Ben would do.

 _It’s okay_ , Ben said. _I know it’s just you. I know._

He looks across the sectional at Ben, head tipped down at an awkward angle, hair falling in his face. Rey’s asleep with her head pillowed on his thigh, his hand resting protectively on her arm.

 _You could’ve fought that_ , Phasma told him, after. _You didn’t have to_ \--

And maybe he didn’t. He isn’t sure. But Ben told him, _It’s okay_ , and he followed what Ben wanted, because that’s his damn job, so maybe he had to after all.

It’ll haunt him a good long while, though. Ben trembling under his hands, trying so hard not to show it.

 _It’s just me_ , Poe told him, and Ben swallowed hard.

 _I know_.

And when Snoke’s lawyer asked, _Is that where he placed his hands_ , Ben took another deep breath and said,

_Usually. Not always. Sometimes, he would have them more in the front. Or… Or lower, maybe. A little lower, sometimes._

And Poe gritted his teeth, and moved his hands as directed, and tried not to think about all the times he’d wondered, absently, what he might want to do with his hands on Ben, where he might want to touch him if a situation arose when he could. Tried not to wonder if, if he ever did get a chance, he’d find himself remembering this instead.

 _A little lower than that_ , and he stopped thinking about himself anyway. Too busy thinking of Ben, shaking, and how he would’ve trembled like this back then. How he would’ve tried to hide it then, too. Trying to believe it was all normal, even when part of him already knew it wasn’t.

 _I’m sorry_ , Poe murmured, and wasn’t sure which Ben he was saying it to -- the one in front of him, or the one in his head.

He needs a cigarette. Bad.

But first things first.

“Ben,” he murmurs, and Ben stirs, a little. Poe slides off the couch, pads over to Ben, crouches down in front of him. Tugs at his ankle. “Hey, Ben. Can you wake up for a sec?”

“‘M awake,” Ben mumbles, his head swinging away from the couch cushions to point, roughly, in Poe’s direction. “‘M awake. Time’s it?”

“It’s late,” Poe says. “I just need you to move a little, so you’re not sleeping like this. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

“Always trust you,” Ben says. His eyes open for a moment; he smiles. “Always.”

Poe rubs his thumb up and down the soft skin of Ben’s ankle, grazing along the knobby bone there. “I know,” he says, softly. “I’m not so sure about Rey, though, so if you could be the one to get her off your lap, that might be better for the both of us, in the long run.”

Ben blinks, hazily, down at Rey’s head in his lap. He bends over her, murmurs something indistinct, and she shifts a little, sitting up just long enough to let Ben scoot out from underneath her. Then she’s down again, one hand dangling off the edge of the couch. Ben continues to shuffle away, squinting at Rey as if to judge the distances. When he’s far enough away, he pulls his feet up onto the couch, stretching out on his side with his head pointed towards Rey’s.

He looks over at Poe, still crouched on the floor. “You got enough room?” he asks.

“Plenty,” Poe says. He isn’t lying. They could easily fit four people on this couch, maybe even five if people curled up smaller. “I’m just gonna get some blankets, okay?”

“‘Kay.” Ben smiles again, then curls up closer to Rey. His eyes fall shut.

Poe stands up, hovers there for a moment. Very carefully, he reaches out, tucks a strand of hair behind one of Ben’s big ears. Ben doesn’t so much as twitch.

 _I know it’s you_ , he said. _It’s okay, when it’s you. Always was. I trust you._

It’ll be harder for Poe than it will be for Ben, probably. To move on. To not think about his hands on Ben’s ribcage and Snoke watching, smiling. That’s okay, though. Better that way. Ben’s hurt enough. Poe can suffer a little, for his sake.

Anyway, it’s over. There’s time enough for everyone to heal, now.

Poe strokes his fingers through Ben’s hair one last time, sighs, and goes to grab the blankets from the hall closet.

 

_December 1998_

“We should do something,” Poe says, as Ben winds his scarf around his neck. Leia’s still in the kitchen with Poe’s dad, talking about something with him, quiet and soft. Ben, however, is already halfway out the door. “Before I go back to New York. We should… I don’t know; I just feel like I haven’t really seen you all break. You know?”

Ben shrugs, staring down at his shoes. “I guess,” he mutters. “Yeah, we could. If you wanted.”

“I do want,” Poe says. “Unless you… don’t? You don’t have to, if you’ve got --”

“I don’t,” Ben says, quickly, and then glances up at Poe, looking horrified. “I mean, I don’t have anything. To do. Not that… I mean, there’s this worship group thing. New Year’s Eve. I might… I don’t know. I haven’t decided. But it’s late. Eight o’clock. We could. Before. Maybe?”

Ben used to be better at making sentences than this. Then again, Ben’s had a bad year. Sometimes you lose things. Poe lost a lot, when he lost his mom. He can relate. “Sure,” he says. “Eight o’clock, that’s plenty of time. And if you decide you don’t want to go to the other thing, I’ll be happy to keep you out of trouble. Did you want to go out, or stay home, or decide when we get there, or --”

“Home,” Ben says, that same swift interruption. “Um. My house, maybe? Because it’s… It’s quiet, there. And then if it’s too quiet, we can do something else, but we could… We could start there, maybe.”

“Sure.” Poe tilts his head, tries to get a read on what Ben’s face is doing, but it’s hard when Ben seems determined to look anywhere but at him. “Just let me know when you want me to come over.”

Another little, nervous glance, and then Ben turns resolutely towards the coat rack. “I’ve got to help my mom with some stuff,” Ben says. “In the morning. But then she’s going into the office in the afternoon, so. Three, maybe? If you could come then?”

Five hours, more than that if Ben decides to skip his church thing. It’s a decent enough length of time. “Sounds great,” Poe says, and watches Ben carefully take his coat down, look back over his shoulder towards the kitchen, almost longingly. It’s weird, watching Ben this eager to leave. Poe’s never seen him like this before. “So this church thing. I mean, obviously I don’t want to interfere, but if you’d be allowed to bring someone like me along, I’d be interested in --”

“It’s not. A church thing.” A quick look at Poe, then back down to his coat. “It’s. A couple of us from school, that’s all. One of the teachers is kind of. Facilitating, I guess? Unofficial; I mean, you can’t -- I don’t know. Sometimes I like it, and then sometimes… But it’s good mostly, I think. And it’s. I mean. Everything’s hard, right now. So how do you say, you know. If it’s the group, or if it’s just… me. Having a hard time. You know?”

“Yeah.” Poe remembers that, too. When he lost his mom, how hard it was for him to enjoy anything at all. He didn’t even like seeing Ben, exactly. It helped, and he was relieved, but it was still… It was hard. Everything was hard. “You know you can talk to me, right? You don’t have to, if you don’t want to, but… But you can.” He reaches out, rests one hand on Ben’s shoulder, and Ben goes very, very still. “I’m always here for you, Ben.”

“I know,” Ben says, but there’s something weird in the way he says it. Something in the way he’s standing, curled up smaller than before. Like he’s scared. Of Poe. But then he shakes his head a little bit, turns around and looks Poe in the eye, and he’s not scared at all. Relieved, almost. “I know. I. Um. Thanks, Poe. Really. I’ll --”

Then there’s footsteps coming from the kitchen, and Leia saying, “I know. I just… But you’re right. You usually are. Shara was a terrible influence on you.”

And Ben slips, a little sheepishly, out of Poe’s grip and starts putting his coat on.

“Just think about it,” Poe’s dad says, as Leia brushes past him, her heels already in her hands. Ben helps steady her as she pushes her stocking-clad feet into her boots. “You two meant a lot to Poe and me, after we lost Shara. Anything you need, we’d be happy to help with. Right, kiddo?”

He claps a hand on Poe’s shoulder, and Poe nods, quickly. “Of course. Anything at all. Really.”

Leia smiles at him, leans in to press a kiss to his cheek. “We’ll work on it,” she says. “Promise.” Then she turns to Ben and asks, “Ready to go, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” Ben says, and manages one last half-second look at Poe. “So. Um. See you Thursday?”

“Yeah,” Poe says, and wonders briefly if he should kiss Ben’s cheek the way Leia just kissed his. But Ben’s staring at the floor again, the tips of his ears faintly pink, so Poe decides to spare him the embarrassment. “Yeah, see you then.”

Poe’s dad clears his throat, and Leia shakes her head. “All right, all right. We’ll make plans to come over again. Soon, Kes. I promise.”

Ben gets her coat down from its peg, holds it out for her to slip into. It’s funny; Poe remembers when Ben was little, when _he_ needed the help getting into his coat. Look at him now.

“Take care of yourselves,” Poe’s dad says. “Okay? I know it’s hard now, but. It’ll get easier. It always does.”

“I hope so,” Leia says.

Behind her, Ben’s head droops a little; his hands still on his shoulders. He’s hurting, bad; Poe aches for him. Not for the first time, he wants to find Han Solo, shake at him, shout at him. Make him come back home, where he belongs. Stop breaking Leia and Ben’s hearts. But it’s not his place, and anyway, Han probably wouldn’t listen. Would tell him he doesn’t understand.

But he understands what it’s like to be left behind. At least his mother didn’t have a choice. Han…

Poe wonders, sometimes, if he’ll ever forgive Han Solo for what he’s done.

“Bye, Poe,” Leia says, and smiles at him. “Bye, Kes. Thanks for having us. We’ll do this again. Soon. I promise.”

Then she and Ben are turning for the door. It opens, lets in a flurry of snow, closes again behind them.

Poe stands there, with his dad’s hand on his shoulder, and tries not to worry too much about them as they drive away.

“C’mon,” his dad says, and tugs at his shoulder. “Let’s go clean up.”

Headlights illuminate the front window; he hears the soft purr of Leia’s car starting up, tires crunching on snow. He wishes someone’d thought to ask them to stay. Maybe they would’ve said yes. Maybe they wouldn’t be leaving.

But they didn’t, and they are, and Poe will have to wait until Thursday to talk to Ben again. Maybe he’ll skip his church thing. Poe probably shouldn’t be hoping for that the way he is, but -- He’s selfish. And worried. And between the two, it’s really hard for him to let Ben or Leia out of his sight.

“They’ll be fine, Poe,” his dad reminds him, when Poe hasn’t moved for too long. “They’re tough. They’ll be fine. Trust me.”

“I do,” Poe says, and finally lets himself be led to the kitchen, to clean up the dishes. “I do.”

 

_September 2000_

Somehow, he winds up at Hux’s house in Grosse Pointe Woods with a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 in his passenger seat. He’s not sure how it, or he, got to where he is. Just --

Snoke’s last words, as they escorted him out of the courtroom.

_Such a bright, promising boy. I do hope you bring him home someday._

It shouldn’t have meant anything. Snoke was going to jail for the rest of his natural life. Ben was safe, and free, and away from him. It shouldn’t have meant anything.

But it did. It really did.

“What’s he gonna tell my father?” Poe asks, as Hux escorts him upstairs. Hux’s room is filled with little models -- airplanes and spaceships and boats and all kinds of tiny things, built by careful hands. It says a lot about Hux. At the same time, it says nothing at all.

“That you’re here,” Hux says, and settles him on the bed. He crouches down at Poe’s feet, starts unlacing his shoes. “That you’re safe. That we’ll make sure you eat a good breakfast before we send you home again.” The left shoe comes off; the right shoe. Both Poe’s socks. “He’s not going to be a dick about this, Poe. Not tonight. You gonna sleep in these?” He tugs at the cuff of Poe’s jeans. “Because I have pajamas, if you want.”

Poe doesn’t want to sleep in his jeans, but Hux is skinnier than he is, and that could be a problem. “You’re skinnier than me,” he says. “Also taller. They won’t fit. And he’s gonna be mad at me. My dad. He’s gonna be so mad.”

Hux just shakes his head and stands back up. Looming. He looms. “You’re safe, you’re with friends, and you didn’t join a cult trying to bring about the end of the world. You’re fine. Look, just try the pants on, okay? And if they don’t fit, then I’ll turn the heat up or bring you another blanket and you can sleep in your underpants. I’m uncomfortable just looking at you right now. That’s how much this bothers me. It’s like I’m the one wearing the jeans, and I don’t like it.”

He turns to go to his dresser, and Poe starts unbuttoning his jeans, because he’s pretty sure Hux has made his mind up and Poe doesn’t feel like fighting. Anyway, he can sleep in his boxers. He tends to run warm anyway. And Hux won’t care. Hux doesn’t care about things like this, because… Because he doesn’t care.

Except he did. A little. Once.

“We’re friends?” Poe asks, and Hux turns to him, a pair of striped pajama bottoms in his hands.

“Don’t get weird about this,” he says. “It’s hard enough for me as it is.” He comes back to the bed, reaches out to take Poe’s elbow and help him stand up. Poe is… wobblier, maybe, than he thinks he should be. He leans on Hux a little more than he’d like to.

Hux doesn’t seem to care. He kneels at Poe’s feet, letting Poe rest one hand on his shoulder, pulls his jeans down and waits, patiently, for Poe to step out of them. Then he helps Poe step into the pajama pants, pulls them up his legs, and ties the drawstring for him.

They’re too long, but they’re not really that tight or anything. They’re fine, really.

Poe isn’t fine. Poe isn’t fine at all.

“You have two friends,” he says, staring down at Hux. Hux has very light eyebrows and very light eyelashes. Is that what Ben fell in love with? Or was it his long fingers, or his fragile shoulders, or the sharp points of his elbows? Or was it something else entirely? “Me and Ben.”

“Three if you count Finn,” Hux says, and pushes back up to his feet, catching Poe easily when his balance leaves him again. His fingertips snag on the waist of Poe’s sweater, lifting it a little. “What do you think the odds are of you falling over again if I try to take this off you while you’re standing up? Probably pretty high, right?”

“Probably,” Poe says, and lets Hux lower him back down to the bed. Hux’s hands go back to Poe’s sweater almost immediately, working it up over his head, and Poe raises his arms and wonders -- is this what it was like with Ben? Did he work Ben’s clothes off like this, so casually? Like he already had the right, and didn’t need to bother asking or making any declarations?

It probably would’ve worked, actually. Better than making a big deal about it, anyway. Ben never could stand a spectacle.

Hux finishes working Poe’s sweater off and Poe’s hands fall limply back into his lap. He stares at Hux’s back as he turns away, bends down to pluck Poe’s jeans off the floor. Hux is in pajamas too, an old t-shirt. _Odyssey of the Mind._ He would’ve done well at that, probably. All those little models he’s built.

“You slept with Ben,” Poe says.

“Not exactly.” Hux doesn’t turn around, carefully folds Poe’s jeans in half and then drapes them neatly over the back of his desk chair. Does the same with his sweater. “Are we really having this conversation now?”

Maybe. Maybe not. Even Poe’s not sure what he’s doing; he just can’t seem to stop. “But you did something,” he says, and Hux finally turns around. There is something, maybe, a little pinched around the corners of his mouth. Or maybe not. Poe’s not sure of anything, anymore. “You and Ben, you -- He was your liability.”

A shrug. “You could say it like that. If you wanted to.” Hux raises his eyebrow. “You’re awfully interested in this. Why? Wondering what it was like? I could give you a demonstration, if that would help.”

It wouldn’t. Poe’s not really sure what he’s here for, but it’s not this. Hux looks so cold, but he isn’t, not totally, and he’s not that hard either, and there is someplace softer and warmer in him and that’s where Poe is hurting him. That little corner he carved out for Ben. For Poe. For his friends. “What if I hadn’t been able to do it?” Poe asks; it’s close, anyway, to what he means to say. What he needs to know. “If I -- I didn’t know. I never -- You knew. So you -- But what if I never figured it out? What if I never thought to --”

“Doesn’t really matter, does it?” Hux finally crosses the room, sits on the bed, not very far from Poe but also not touching him. “If you could, or if you couldn’t. Because it wasn’t you. It was me. And I did it. So you didn’t have to.”

Just like that, Poe bursts into tears -- pitches forward and buries his head in his arms, curling up as small as he can and just sobbing. Because he didn’t do _anything_. He didn’t help. He didn’t do anything at all, not one single thing.

Ben needed him, and he did _nothing._

It’s a long time before he realizes Hux is stroking his back. Hux is sitting hip to hip with him, rubbing him back and telling him, “It’s okay, it’s okay. You’ll get your chance. There’s something -- my dad’s been telling me about it. It’ll be good for you. And I think -- I know it’s ridiculous, and I don’t really believe in -- And I don’t think you do either, but maybe Ben’s rubbed off on me a bit, because I think this is your chance. If you’re patient. If you wait. I think this is how you help.”

 _Is this how you did it?_ Poe doesn’t ask. _Did you touch him like this? Did you whisper to him, like this? Is this how it worked?_

It could be. It could be something else entirely. It doesn’t matter now.

It’s working on Poe, anyway.

He falls asleep in Hux’s bed, with Hux curled around him, talking to him, an endless stream of words --

“-- understand just how much you did for this case. None of those kids would’ve testified if it weren’t for you, Poe; probably no one would’ve even thought to ask them anything, but you did. Some of the best evidence we had, and no one would’ve ever known about it, but you --”

and he thinks -- This is how Ben was saved. This is how Hux got him free. Holding him like this, talking to him like this.

And whether or not Poe could’ve done it doesn’t matter, because he never needed to.

And he can’t change that. All he can do now is

Well.

Focus on what he can do now.

“You’re like him,” Hux whispers. “All you want to do is help people. This, I think, is how you do it.”

And Poe doesn’t say it out loud, but he knows. He’ll do what Hux wants him to do. And maybe, someday, he’ll get that second chance after all.

 

_March 1988_

“My mom says we’re gonna have dinner with you on Wednesday,” Ben says. His father looms behind him, Ben’s duffle bag dangling from his grip. “I’m gonna see if I can sleep over. I know you have school, and so do I, but my dad could take you. It’s not far. I don’t think it’s far.”

Poe glances up, nervously, but Han just shrugs and reaches out to ruffle Poe’s curls with his free hand. “It’s not far,” he agrees. “If Poe’s dad’s okay with it. But we need to start asking if people’s dads are okay with things, Benjamin.”

Ben glances up at his father, briefly, but he doesn’t say yes or no and he doesn’t look sorry. “I’ll come back either way,” he says. “I promised. I’ll come back. As soon as I can.”

All Poe can do is nod. Anything else and he might cry, and he doesn’t want to keep crying. Ben might stay if he does, and Ben can’t stay. Ben has to go.

“You’re my favorite person,” Ben says, solemnly. “You’re my favorite person in the whole wide world, Poe. Okay?”

Han looks up at Poe’s dad and says, “This is sounding kind of familiar,” and all Poe can do is nod and let Ben hug him. Ben hugs him tight, like his little arms are the only things holding Poe together, and maybe it’s true.

But Poe can’t show it. He just hugs back as best he can, and tries not to look too sad when Ben pulls away.

Only then, right when Han turns to leave, something in Ben’s face changes. And he looks so sad, all of a sudden. So lost and alone, even with his dad right there. Ben loved Poe’s mom, the same way Poe loves Ben’s. He let her ruffle his hair and squeeze his shoulders and even sit with him on her lap sometimes, when he barely let any grownups touch him at all. He loved her. He probably misses her, too.

“Ben,” Poe says, because he can’t think of anything else, and then he’s hurrying forward and crouching down and hugging Ben tight, and Ben is holding his shirt in both hands and sniffling a little. “I’ll talk to my dad, okay? I want you to sleep over, if you want. You’re -- You’re my favorite person, too. You always were. You can sleep over any time. Promise.”

“Really?” Ben asks, and Poe hugs him tighter.

“Really,” he says. “Any time you want. Really.”

“Again with the promises,” Han murmurs, and Poe’s dad says,

“He’s welcome, though. All of you. I don’t know if I could’ve --”

“Hey,” Han says, and brushes past Poe, his pant legs grazing Poe’s shoulder. “Any time you need us, okay? Day or night. We’re always here.”

“Always,” Ben repeats, and Poe clings to him, and doesn’t let go for a long time.

 

_July 2012_

There is a moment, before the deposition, when it’s just Ben and Poe. Luke’s gone back home to wait with the rest of Ben’s family, and Phasma is off taking care of… Whatever last minute details she needs to take care of. So it’s just Ben and Poe, leaning up against a wall outside the conference room, clinging tight to each other’s hands.

“I’m right here,” Poe says, and Ben takes a deep breath.

“I know,” he says. He turns to look at Poe -- those solemn dark eyes in that pale face, the flutter of his lashes and the way he bites at his lower lip. “Thank you, Poe. I don’t know if I could do this without you.”

There are a lot of answers Poe could give to that; in the end, he just shrugs. “It doesn’t matter,” he says. “You don’t have to. Honestly, I wouldn’t let you anyway.”

Ben musters a brief, nervous smile at that. Then his gaze drops back down to the carpet.

The door to the conference room creaks open. Ben’s whole body tenses up; he looks over at Poe, and Poe nods at him.

“Right here,” he says. “Not going anywhere.”

Ben swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and then pushes away from the wall and starts towards the conference room, Poe’s hand clutched tight in his.

 

 

_Epilogue -- October 2012_

He’s standing in the kitchen with Leia and Rey when Phasma’s text comes in; he feels his phone buzzing in his pocket and everything freezes. His heart skips a beat; his lungs forget how to work. Just for a moment, and then his hand is closing around his phone but not pulling it out, and he’s muttering “Excuse me,” and hurrying out of the room without bothering to look at either of their faces.

Han is on his way into the kitchen as Poe leaves it; he stops Poe with a hand on his shoulder, studies his face, and then says, “Ben’s upstairs. In his old room. Tell him… Tell him to take his time.”

Poe just nods, and waits until Han lets go before he starts moving again, up the stairs, heading for that second door on the right.

Ben’s room hasn’t changed that much since the last time Poe was in it, almost fourteen years ago now. Leia took the posters down, touched the paint up, bought a new bed. Ben’s never actually slept in it -- he gave the room to Rey the first time they came to visit and it’s her duffel bag sitting on the floor by the dresser, her towel in the hamper, a few strands of her long hair still on the pillowcase.

But it hasn’t changed that much, really. Not as much as the man currently sitting on the bed, elbows on his knees, big feet stacked one on top of the other. He looks up as Poe walks in, his dark eyes very wide and very frightened.

Poe pulls his phone out of his pocket, but doesn’t unlock it yet. He sits down next to Ben, thigh to thigh and shoulder to shoulder. “Ready?” he asks.

Ben bites his lip, and then nods. His eyes slip shut, like he’s afraid of even seeing Phasma’s news. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, go for it.”

He doesn’t sound ready. Poe, really, isn’t ready either.

He opens the message anyway.

_Appeal denied. Tell Ben he did good._

For the second time in ten minutes, Poe forgets how to breathe.

“Please say something,” Ben murmurs, and Poe sucks in a deep breath, then another.

“It’s over,” he says, and wonders why he can’t seem to feel anything about it. “It’s over. The appeal was denied. You did it, Ben. You did it, you _beat_ him --” and okay, that’s where the emotion was, it was just a delayed response, that’s -- “You did it, Ben. You beat him. You _won._ ”

The choked noise Ben makes then does not sound at all like victory.

“Ben.” Poe tosses his phone behind him on the bed, reaches out to take both Ben’s hands in his. “Ben, it’s okay. It’s over. You did the right thing, and he’s going back to jail, where he can’t hurt anyone anymore. What he did to you, he can’t… You did that. You stopped him. I’m so proud of you, Ben. I’m so proud.”

Ben doesn’t look up, just tucks himself tighter against Poe’s side. He’s breathing so hard and so fast that his whole body is shaking with it. “I’m sorry,” he manages. “I’m sorry, I don’t know -- I don’t know _why_ I can’t --”

“Come here,” Poe says, and pulls Ben in close, until Ben’s head is pressed against Poe’s chest and Poe’s arms are wrapped around Ben’s shoulders. Ben’s hands land on Poe’s hips, and then he’s clutching at Poe’s waist, clinging to him like he’s a little kid again, still afraid of the dark.

He has a right to be, of course. More than anyone Poe can think of.

“It’s over,” Poe says, again, and Ben finally starts to cry, burying his face in Poe’s shirt and making soft, helpless noises that he can’t seem to stifle. “You stopped him. You did everything right, Ben. You were so good. I’m so proud of you.”

Ben keeps sobbing into Poe’s shirt, all of the fear and all of the pain that must have been building up in him for so long finally finding an outlet now that it’s over, now that Ben doesn’t have to keep fighting.

It’s over. For Ben.

Poe still has work to do, and that’s all right. He wouldn’t want it any other way.

“I’m here,” he murmurs, and pulls Ben as close as he can manage, holding on, holding him together. “I’m right here.”

There is nowhere else he would rather be.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic went through a lot of drafts, and a lot of scenes that I really really loved wound up on the cutting room floor. If anyone is interested, [here](http://lookninjas.tumblr.com/post/152432152406/about-to-post-the-fic-but-i-wanted-to-put-up) is a deleted scene that takes place after Rey's graduation (it's not a fic set in Northern Michigan if there's not a bonfire at some point), and [here](http://lookninjas.tumblr.com/post/152230733191/i-think-i-have-finally-finished-the-story-or-at) is the scene where Ben and Poe finally make out. That's right. I ship it. I ship it hard.


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